Resolution: Evan Warner Book 1 Read Online Free Page A

bits of broken glass on his clothes. He didn’t look nervous like the runner. Just angry. Angry for having been fired at and caught. He probably realized by now that he’d been tricked by nonlethal rounds. Homemade loads with a convincing boom. In an instant of panic he’d seen a shotgun pointed at him and swerved to avoid it and crashed his van unnecessarily.
    “Get on your stomach,” I said.
    “Like hell,” he replied.
    “Do it,” I said. “Or else.”
    He laughed. More defiantly than nervously.
    “Got something to prove?” I asked.
    “You guys ain’t gonna shoot me,” he grumbled. “Those ain’t even real bullets. I’d be dead if they were.”
    I looked to my father and told him to lower the shotgun. Then looked back to the guy.
    “No, we won’t shoot you. But you will get a serious beating.”
    “That so?”
    “Sure is.”
    “From you or the old man?”
    “You really wanna find out?”
    “Kiss my ass, kid.”
    I declined and said, “You’re headed for the clink either way, pal. You’ve got two options. Walk in with your head up or get pushed in a wheelchair. Your choice.”
    He said nothing to that. Just stared at me, trying to call my bluff. He was maybe late thirties. Fairly heavily built with a rough face. He wasn’t as easily intimidated as most men. Evidently it wasn’t his first such confrontation or dirty job.
    “Last chance,” I said. “I’m trying to be fair.”
    “Cheap bastard,” he said, goading me in return. “Sucker punch me in front of all these people. Go ahead. I dare you.”
    “Evan,” my dad said. “This man will be in the cruiser in five minutes. Let him shoot his mouth off.”
    “Screw that,” I said, holding my gaze on the guy. “He’ll be on a stretcher when I’m done with him.”
    “You’re pretty tough while I’m kneeling,” the guy said. “Big man. Big gun. Big mouth.”
    Rather than getting angry or flustered, I smiled at him. Kneeling before me was a genuine fighter, not just some mouthpiece. A flood of energy was coursing through me. This was the sort of guy whose prideful defiance kept my job interesting. It had been a few weeks since I’d had a good fight. I needed the practice, and he needed a good beating.
    “Okay,” I said. “Get up.”
    My dad stepped toward me and I held out my right arm to keep him from getting any closer.
    “This isn’t necessary, Evan.”
    I kept my eyes locked on the driver, said, “It’s no fun going down without a fight. I get it. So stand up, chief. Take your shot.”
    He kept on glaring, doing his best version of thinking. Pondering his very limited options. He could avoid an immediate beating by staying down until the police took him into custody. But that would only spare him in the shortest of terms. From then on his life would go from bad to worse at an alarming rate. His days would be filled with court dates and cavity searches. Holding cells and prison food. Evenings spent locked in a cage, getting to know a new boyfriend. The only alternative to that chain of misery was to heed the momentary primal response of fight or flight. He didn’t look like much of a runner. Fighting was his last viable option. The last free decision he’d make for years to come.
    It was bleak, for sure. But I didn’t feel bad for him. He should have considered all that before he tried to grab a kid.
    “Get up,” I said, taking another step back, giving him some room. “You want to fight, don’t you?”
    He hesitated, though it was clear that he was on the verge of taking the bait. He was trapped. Out of options. And he was getting sick of me fast.
    “Come on,” I said. “You gonna stay there with your lip quivering till the cops get here? You ran your mouth. Now back it up. Get up, you worthless lop of shit.”
    His expression changed in a flash. His mind was made up. He had been eyeing my gun as I watched him. Probably daydreaming of using it on me and my dad. He got to his feet slowly with a grunt, trying to sell